Conflagration
by Rowen-bsg
Summary: A relationship, like a fire takes time to develop. It doesn't spring fully formed but grows in intensity over time. AdamaRoslin.
1. Friction

**Friction**

Missing/extended scene from the mini-series

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Fraking Secretary of fraking Education.

Her voice still echoed in his head:

"_Do you plan to declare martial law? Take over the government?_"

Sanctimonious little school teacher.

Crew members took one look at his face as he stormed from the ward room to CIC and made a hole for him. A very large hole.

Frak. He tried schooling his face into its normal impassivity, but his blood still boiled.

"_I honestly don't know why I have to keep telling you this, but the war is over_."

Really? He'd show her the end of a war.

A marine who was a little slow off the mark only just managed to get the hatch to CIC open a moment before he would have barreled right into it.

What they needed to do was regroup. There were a number of Colonial warships missing from the official list of losses. He'd find another battlestar or two. And then…

Starbuck's voice crackled over the wireless, reporting on the situation outside the safe haven of Ragnar Anchorage.

"…_It looks like two Base Stars, with ten fighter squadrons and two recon drone detachments patrolling the area… By the way they're deployed, I'd say they were waiting for us to come to them._"

His jaw clenched, a sick feeling building in the pit of his stomach. The Cylons had found them - probably due to that device Doral had planted on the ship. Frak.

'Roslin is right,' a little voice whispered in his head. He firmly told that voice to shut up.

"I'm not going to play their game, and try to fight our way out of here," he ground out. "Can we plot a jump from here?"

Saul doubted it was possible, with the interference from the storm mucking up the FTL fix. Gaeta concurred. Double frak.

Lee brought up the problem of the civilians.

"_We have fifty thousand people left, and that's it,_" Roslin's voice repeated in his head.

He noticed Roslin's young aide - what's his name - approach Dee. Their conversation appeared to be awkward; stilted. Like a young man and a young woman getting to know one another. At any other time, he would have looked on with the amused condescension of someone older, who had been through all that before.

So young. Dee was what, 23? 24?

"_We need to get the hell out of here, and we need to start having babies._"

This time, he didn't try and silence that inner voice, but unconsciously echoed the words out loud.

The conversation between Lee, Saul and Gaeta came to a screeching halt. They glanced at each other, bewildered by their CO's apparent non-sequiter.

Saul followed his gaze to where the two young people were in conversation.

"Is that an order?" he asked in an amused tone of voice, cocking an eyebrow. It was the first almost-levity that Adama had heard in a while.

"It may be before too long," he replied, semi-seriously. There was nothing for it; she'd been right. "Okay, we're taking the civilians with us."

"We're running?" Saul queried the sudden turn about in his CO's attitude. Adama couldn't blame him for the surprise.

"_The war is over._"

"War's over. We lost." Again, he echoed Roslin's words out loud. Was she becoming his conscience now?

If they made it out of this alive, he realized he owed the woman an apology. She'd been able to see the situation clearly and logically from the start. Maybe she would be able to hold things together while they ran for their lives.

He issued orders for the battle plan with a heavy heart, knowing as he did so that people under his command were about to die: a ship this old couldn't take on two Base Stars.

Galactica might die, but she'd die saving the remains of humanity.


	2. Heat

**Heat**

Extended/missing scene from episode 1.11 Colonial day

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The party was in full swing by the time Commander William Adama was able to get away from Galactica and join the Colonial Day celebrations on Cloud Nine.

He caught sight of a number of his pilots dancing up a storm on the dance floor and smiled to himself. After the terror and pain of the last few months, it was good to see people enjoying themselves again - even if it was only for a while.

Snagging a drink from a passing tray, he navigated around the outside of the room, occasionally nodding to people as they came within a certain social distance which meant you couldn't pretend you hadn't noticed them anymore. Small talk was not one of his favorite pastimes, but he dutifully engaged various ship captains and several Quorum delegates in idle chit-chat as he circulated.

A loud, excited whoop rose from the dance floor. Starbuck and Boomer, surrounded by a crowd of admirers. He shook his head at their exuberance: to be that young again. The crowds on the dance floor parted slightly, and across the room he saw Her. Laura Roslin. Former Secretary of Education, now President of the Colonies.

Politely, he excused himself from the tiresome Virgon delegate with: "I really should pay my respects to the President." Without waiting to hear a response, he drifted in the direction of the woman he had spotted.

As he approached, he had the opportunity to study her while her attention was directed toward the dance floor. Surrounded by her security guards, she stood there smiling, and a casual glance would tell people she was enjoying herself. But there was something behind the smile. Something… wistful… sad.

In a moment of acute empathy, he understood that wistfulness. There she was, standing apart from the crowd surrounded by bodyguards, while everyone else was enjoying themselves; an island of solitude in a sea of revelry. It was a feeling he understood only too well - the loneliness of command. The difference was he'd had time to get used to it as he made his way up through the ranks; command had been thrust upon her less than six months before.

"Good evening, Madam President."

She looked startled that someone had actually approached her circle of isolation, but gave him a warm smile.

"I thought you hated these things," she greeted him warmly, her smile taking on an impish quality.

He knew she was trying to ruffle his feathers, and let her think she'd succeeded.

"It's Colonial Day. Where else would I be? I'm a patriot."

She regarded him a long moment, as if trying to work out what made him tick.

"You really are, aren't you?" she asked softly.

Regretting the disappearance of the levity, he cast around for a neutral topic and his mind seized upon the first thing he saw.

"Dr Baltar - interesting choice." Well, that was an abysmal failure as far as neutral topics went.

"If figured," she replied with a significant pause, her eyes on Adama, not Baltar, "the devil you know."

His mind did a double take. Was she flirting with him? His eyes locked with hers for a moment, then slid away. Maybe.

"Politics," he continued on smoothly, his mien betraying no trace of his thoughts. "As exciting as war. Definitely as dangerous."

"Though in war," she responded, looking introspective, "you only get killed once. In politics, it can happen over and over."

"You're still standing," he offered.

"So are you." The twinkle in her eye was back, and there was that smile again. Yes, he was pretty sure she was flirting, and he decided to up the ante.

"And I can dance."

He could see that at first she didn't realize his statement was actually an invitation. Not until he offered his hand to her. With a nervous little laugh she took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. He found the reaction… interesting.

As he took her in his arms, he realized just how long it had been since he danced for the sake of dancing. Oh, he'd attended Colonial Fleet functions where he'd escorted other senior officers for an obligatory turn on the dance floor, but it was a long time since he'd asked an attractive woman to dance for reasons other than duty. And he had to admit, it felt good. Much better than he should allow it to feel, in fact.

After a few moments he could feel some of the tension in her body relax, and she flowed into the steps of the dance.

'We move well together,' he thought, as he expertly navigated them past an over-enthusiastic Starbuck. Roslin was a good dancer, and followed his lead effortlessly.

"Thank you for asking me to dance, Commander," she said softly, her breath ever so faintly brushing the side of his neck. Nice. Dangerous. This close, he could smell the faint hint of her perfume. Intoxicating.

He made a polite comment in response; some part of his mind responding on autopilot without telling the rest of his brain, which was too busy with other thoughts .

The music eventually segued into a slower, more languid piece. Around them couples moved closer; bodies touching; embracing.

'Oh frak,' he thought, and made the mistake of looking at Roslin.

Their gaze held; cobalt eyes meeting cerulean. Simmering. His hand slid slowly down her back until it was resting just above her buttocks. Her eyes widened and lips parted. His heart rate increased. She shifted towards him, her body almost touching his, their breath mingling; the heat between them palpable. Coherent thought fled.

It was Roslin who broke the moment, and stepped back.

"As much as I would love to continue this _dance_, Commander," she said in a low tone laced with regret, "I believe the press would have a field day if we continued."

For a moment, it was on the tip of his tongue to invite her back to his cabin so they could continue the _dance_ in private, but then sanity returned with an unwelcome rush. She was the President of the Twelve Colonies; he was her senior Colonial Fleet military officer. Any relationship of a personal nature between them would have repercussions, and shouldn't be undertaken lightly just to assuage loneliness or for momentary gratification.

So with military mask once more in place, he offered her his arm and escorted her back to the clutches of her security detail.

"Thank you once again for the dance, Commander." Her words were correctly formal, but her glowing eyes and heightened color said more. Much more.

"My pleasure, Madam President."


	3. Sparks

**Sparks**

Missing scene from 2.07 "Home part 2"

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**Galactica**:

The speeches were over; the fleet had been put back together. Hopefully the wounds would begin to heal now.

Laura glanced sideways at the Commander as he escorted her back to his quarters. The ceremony on the hangar deck had been his idea, which pleased her. When she first met him, she wouldn't have credited him with the political acumen to think of such a thing.

--------

**Kobol:**

_"When we return to the fleet, we need to do something to heal this breach," he said, helping her over the steep terrain. "A public gesture, from both of us."_

_"They need to see mom and dad kiss and make up?" she asked, somewhat facetiously._

_"I wouldn't have quite put it that way," he replied, but the hint of a smile played about his lips._

--------

**Galactica**:

Her speech had been relatively short and to-the-point. Reinforcing 'family', 'need-to-pull-together' and most importantly, that they were heading in the right direction on the path to Earth. That last point had heartened the crowd immensely.

She'd called Adama back up to the podium. He'd publicly shown his support for her, by leading the applause when she'd stepped up to speak, and she needed to make a similar gesture. With the crowd cheering their approval, she'd bestowed the ceremonial of kisses of alliance, trust and friendship on his cheeks. Mom and dad kissing and making up indeed.

The crowds dispersed to their own celebrations or duties, while the two 'leaders of humanity' had agreed upon a quiet drink.

Adama's quarters were the haven she remembered. The smell of leather, books and a hint of aftershave permeated the air. It was the most 'home-like' place she knew of in the fleet and she'd always felt comfortable here, even when the two of them didn't get along.

"Do you mind if I take my shoes off?" she asked, as he moved to the sideboard to pour them a drink. "After three days of hiking my feet are killing me."

"Make yourself at home," he offered.

She took him at his word, kicking her heels off and sinking gratefully into the softness of the couch. It felt so good to be sitting that she groaned out loud with relief.

"You've had a rough few days," he noted, handing her a glass.

"Rough few weeks," she corrected. "Since we broke out of the brig, we've been on the move almost constantly."

His eyes darkened at the reminder he had thrown her in prison. But if mistakes were to be avoided in future, they needed to acknowledge the mistakes of the past.

"I think the worst was the meat locker," she continued lightly. "After two days surrounded by the smell of meat - even if it was frozen - I was just about ready to become a vegetarian."

He smiled wryly.

"Have I apologized for that yet?" he asked.

"Yes, but you can do so again if you'd like," she replied with a smile and a magnanimous wave of her hand.

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**Kobol**:

_They were silent for a long time, slipping and sliding down the path from the tomb. It wasn't as difficult as the climb up, but Laura felt herself flagging._

_When she stumbled yet again, Bill called another rest break._

_She sank onto a fallen tree trunk, completely exhausted. She was tired, wet and unbelievably dirty. All she wanted now was a shower, a hot meal, and to sleep for a week. Frak getting to Earth._

_"I want to apologize," Bill said abruptly, sitting next to her._

_She looked up and met his eyes with a querying gaze._

_"For throwing you in the brig," he elaborated. "I was angry; furious that you'd overstepped your bounds, but I should have found a way to work around the problem instead of incarcerating you." Pause. "Especially if I'd known you were sick."_

_Laura froze a moment: there it was - the elephant in the room. Her cancer._

_She looked away, unable to meet that compassionate gaze._

_"Why didn't you tell me, Laura?" he continued softly, as if he were talking to a frightened child._

_She took a deep breath, forcing herself to meet his eyes again._

_"I found out the morning I left Caprica for Galactica's decommissioning ceremony," she said slowly. It was time to be completely candid with him._

_"In the beginning, there was so much friction between us. You really didn't like me, and I thought..." she shrugged with a wry grin, "Well, let's just say I thought less than complimentary things about you._

_"But then we started pulling together, working more as a team. We didn't always agree but..." Sigh. "By that time I had gotten used to keeping the secret. Only Jack, Billy, Lee and Elosha knew._

_"And I was afraid that the people... that you... would lose faith in my ability to be President. You have to understand: my illness doesn't matter. Finding a new home for humanity is my overriding concern."_

_She smiled sadly at him._

_"But your apology is accepted."_

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**Galactica**:

"So what should we drink to?" he asked, lifting his glass.

"To friendship and family," she toasted, raising her own glass.

"To friendship and family, Madam President."

Laura hesitated, then sipped the wine. On Kobol, they had been Laura and Bill. Now they had returned to the fleet, were they supposed to go back to "Commander" and "Madam President"?

"I have a request," she said softly, placing her glass on the coffee table, and drawing her legs beneath her on the couch.

He cocked an eyebrow; a slightly wary expression coming over his face.

"It's all right, it's not going to cost you anything," she said with whimsical humor. "Back on the planet…" She hesitated, unsure how to broach the topic, then started with an oblique approach. "Did you know that the only people in this fleet willing to call me by my first name are Jack Cottle and Elosha? And now with Elosha gone..." Her eyes misted, and she took a deep breath, wrapping her arms about herself. He sat silently, waiting for her to continue.

"Back on the planet, we were 'Laura' and 'Bill'. Do you think, at least in private..."

"That we stay 'Laura' and 'Bill'?" he finished for her.

She nodded.

He placed his glass on the table, and offered her his hand. She reached out and grasped it with her own.

"Laura," he intoned, her name rolling off his lips.

"Bill," she returned, looking into his eyes and seeing for the first time the same loneliness that lay in her own heart.

The moment lasted a few seconds, then the mood between them shifted. Just a little, but she was suddenly aware of the warm skin surrounding her hand, the look in his eyes. That same look she'd caught at odd moments over the last five or so months, but had not expected to see again now that he knew she was dying. His thumb unconsciously stroked the sensitive skin of her wrist and she suppressed the spark of desire that shot through her.

Shaken, she withdrew her hand, and grabbed for her glass. He let her go, and retrieved his own.

Their eyes met, and both knew the other knew.

"To friendship and family," Laura repeated the toast softly.


	4. Warmth

**Warmth**

Missing scene from episode 2.12 "Resurrection ship part 2"

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William Adama sat stony-faced in the raptor as it took him from Colonial One back to Galactica. The small jewelry box sat clenched in his hand, the corners digging in to the flesh of his palm. He welcomed the pain. It was so slight as to be insignificant, compared to hers.

He closed his eyes. He was going to have to say goodbye to a friend soon. She was fading before his eyes; each time he saw her there was less than before. Cottle had told him that she had a couple of weeks at the outside. And she knew it.

Many people had died under his command, especially in the last six months, but those had usually been quick deaths in the heat of combat. He didn't know how to cope with the lingering death sentence Laura Roslin was under.

Laura Roslin. His President. His friend. A woman who, under other circumstances, might have become much more to him. Now they'd never have the chance to see how their nascent relationship would have developed.

The raptor docked so gently, that it didn't penetrate his thoughts, until the door lifted open. Absently, he thanked Racetrack for the ride, and made his way to his quarters on automatic.

Standing in front of the mirror, he removed his old rank pins, and attached the ones Laura had given him less than an hour before. An Admiral of the Fleet stared back at him from the mirror. Her gift to him.

And the tears rolled down his cheeks.


	5. Smolder

**Smolder **

Missing scenes from Episode 2.20 Lay down your Burdens part 2

----------------------------------------------------

Laura Roslin looked around the cabin of Colonial One, the place that had been her home for the last year. A bare, impersonal room stared back at her, ready for its new occupant. All her personal items were now packed in the bag sitting on the bed - they easily fitted into the small carry-all she'd had since she first came aboard Galactica for the dedication ceremony all those months ago. Three suits, five blouses, two pairs of shoes, some jewelry, underwear, nightgown and robe. She hadn't really acquired anything else during her time in office. Oh, a few small mementos, yes, but the life of Laura Roslin now fitted into a single bag.

A knock sounded at the cabin door. One of her security detail - ex-security detail, she reminded herself - poked his head through the door.

"Are you ready Ma'am? The transport is waiting in the hangar bay." His voice was soft, sympathetic; but she felt a jarring dislocation: it was over.

Taking a last look around - as if she could possibly forget to pack anything - she picked up her bag. The young man quickly crossed the room and took it from her.

"Thank you Daniel," she smiled up at him, "and thank you for your exemplary service over the last year."

"It was an honor, Ma'am," he said seriously.

She managed another smile, and left the cabin for the last time.

Out through her office, stacked with files ready for the incoming president to review (minus a few, which were tucked in the bottom of her bag). Through Press Room which was all set up for the swearing-in ceremony later in the day. Then down the ladder to the main deck of Colonial One, where the majority of the presidential staff worked. Usually it was a bustling hive of activity: today it was a mad-house. While some of her staff would remain, others would not and outgoing staff were frantically briefing their replacements. Mad house or not, all noise and activity ground to a halt as people noticed her moving through the area.

Then in the silence, someone started clapping. Then another, and another, before most of the room erupted into applause and thunderous cheers. She smiled tremously at people she'd been working with for almost a year, unable to keep the tears from her eyes at their show of support.

Later she didn't remember the trip down to the hangar deck. The next thing she knew, she was standing before the door of a Raptor. A vaguely familiar pilot was standing just inside the hatch, and she dredged up the young woman's name from her memory.

"Good morning, Lieutenant… Edmondson." The pilot whose flight had stumbled upon the planet that was going to become their new home. She couldn't hold that against the woman, but she still wished to the Gods it hadn't happened.

"Ma'am," Edmondson stood to attention.

"I assume you're here to take me to Galactica."

"Yes Ma'am."

Galactica. And Bill.

-------

The flight was mercifully short. Given that Baltar's swearing in was to be early afternoon, the Admiral had imposed strict security conditions surrounding Colonial One, and had doubled the usual no-fly zone around the President's ship. The only exception being Galactica itself, which maintained a vigilant position off the smaller ship's starboard side.

As the flew along the length of the warship, Laura took a good look at what would be her home for a while. She remembered the conversation with Tory when her aide had told her that arrangements had been made for her to live aboard the Galactica after Baltar was sworn in.

-------

_"But it's a warship, Tory. I'll just be in their way. Wouldn't it be better for me to go on one of the civilian ships?"_

_Tory looked exasperated. _

_"Where? The Astral Queen? I'm sure Tom Zarek would love to have you aboard. Or maybe one of the cargo or mining ships? They're about all that have room for extra passengers. Except for the Rising Star, that is, and you know what sort of stink would be kicked up if you were to be given luxury accommodations._

_"Besides, the Colonies have always protected their ex-Presidents. But the current Detail is so small, there is no one to spare to provide you with permanent protection. Galactica's marines can provide the same function without compromising their other duties."_

_Laura started to object - that she didn't need guards anymore - but Tory gave her a quelling look._

_"Laura," she stressed, "if it bothers you too much, think about it as a straight swap. Dr Baltar currently lives on Galactica - does anyone think he's getting special favors? No."_

-------

Galactica's hanger bay was its usual cacophonous self. Knuckle draggers rushed about with equipment, repairing Vipers, doing all sorts of incomprehensible technical things.

Laura stepped off the wing of the raptor and into the confusion. Previously when she'd been visiting Galactica, she'd either had an escort or known where to go. Now…

One of the deckhands separated from the throng, came forward and saluted. The young woman's face was terribly swollen and bruised, and Laura almost winced at the sight. The girl looked like she belonged in bed.

"President Roslin, Admiral Adama's compliments. Your cabin won't be ready until this afternoon - after the inauguration - and he invites you to wait in his quarters in the meantime. He's currently tied up in CIC, but said he'll be by in time to escort you to the ceremony on Colonial One this afternoon."

The Admiral's quarters. She'd been there many times on official business, but never as just Laura Roslin. It set butterflies fluttering in her stomach - and she knew exactly why - but she kept all sign of her inner turmoil off her face with ease of practice.

At the girl's courteous signal, they headed towards the hangar exit.

"Thank you Specialist..."

"Cally, Madam President. But you can just call me Cally."

Laura made a self-deprecating gesture and smiled. "Well, I'm not the President for much longer. You can call me Laura."

Cally looked horrified at the thought.

"I… I couldn't Madam Pres…"

Laura lifted an eyebrow.

"I mean, it just seems wrong, Ms Roslin."

Laura sighed internally. The girl was so young. So were most of Galactica's crew. The only people close to Laura herself in age were Doc Cottle, Colonel Tigh and the Admiral. She resigned herself to yet more formality.

"Besides," Cally continued, "you'll be President again once the people realize what a frakking moron Baltar is." She blushed, then mumbled, "Begging your pardon, Ma'am."

Laura waved the apology away, as they continued down the corridor.

"I mean, the guy doesn't just talk to himself; he argues with himself. I mean **really** argues. And sometimes he even hits himself, or bashes his head into walls, or drags himself around by his tie. Everyone here's seen it: they all know how nuts he is. Then there was the time he was in his lab with his pants down…" The list of Baltar's... idiosyncrasies... went on.

Laura's eyebrows shot up at all the juicy gossip, and she couldn't help wishing that some of this had come out in the election campaign. Unfortunately, it would have come across as a smear campaign by her side, but maybe some of it would have stuck in people's minds.

She smiled at the young woman. "Cally, I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"Of course Ma'am," was the prompt response.

"Previously when I've been on Galactica, it's been for official reasons. And as a result I've only gone between the hangar deck, wardroom, sick bay, CIC and the Admiral's quarters. If you have time, I was wondering if you could show me other areas of Galactica I might be allowed to access once I'm a civilian again."

"Sure," Cally smiled. "Chief won't ride my butt for lagging 'cause he's still feeling guilty." She paused for a moment, obviously considering where a civilian should be allowed to go on the ship. "How about the gym, then the galley?"

Apparently the list of places was very short.

"That would be lovely. Lead on."

-------

The hatch clanged open, and Laura glanced up from the book she was reading. Admiral Adama strode into his quarters, obviously in a hurry.

"Laura. Sorry I'm late. It's been a madhouse today..." He broke off, shaking his head.

She waved away his apology with a smile.

"I'll just be a few minutes," he said, stripping off his tunic and retrieving its dress uniform counterpart.

"I hope you had lunch," he continued, practiced hands making short work of the large number of buttons.

"Cally was kind enough to show me where the galley was," she answered, uncurling from the couch and slipping her feet back into her shoes. She briefly ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing unruly locks.

Bill returned from his sleeping chamber, slipping a sash over his head.

"Ready to attend this farce?" he asked.

"In a moment," she replied. "You're crooked. May I?"

He nodded assent, and she reached out and straightened the sash.

"Can't have the Admiral of the Fleet looking like he dressed in a hurry for a Presidential inauguration" she said, smoothing the fabric over his chest.

He caught her hands, and gently held them in place against him.

"How are you doing?" his face radiated concern.

She shrugged.

"Feeling a little out of place, at the moment," she admitted. "And irritated with the general population. But it will pass. Hopefully." She managed a brief smile.

He held her hands in place for a moment longer than necessary, and she could feel the heat seeping through his tunic. The air between them felt charged. He leaned incrementally closer.

The phone rang, breaking the moment.

"Adama." He paused, listening. Then finished with "Good," and returned the handset to its cradle.

"We'd better go," he said, clearing his throat. Then he offered her his arm, escorting her to the raptor that would take them to Colonial One for the inauguration of President Gaius Baltar.

-------

The destruction of Cloud Nine catapulted Galactica into a heightened state of readiness.

When Laura and Bill returned to the warship after the ceremony, the hangar deck was a hive of activity.

"I'm afraid I'm needed in CIC," Bill apologized to her, as he helped her off the raptor.

She waved off the apology.

"Go. You have things to do. I'll find my way to my new quarters."

"Madam Pr..." he stopped, remembering the title no longer applied. "Ms Roslin. I'll call by tomorrow to see how you're doing." His attention was snagged by Lieutenant Agathon, who appeared to be hovering anxiously, and the two of them hurried away.

She found her new quarters, pleased that she'd only taken one wrong turn. As the hatch swung open, she bit back a sigh of dismay. She'd known it was going to be small but... She took a deep breath, reminding herself she was better off than a majority of people in the fleet.

The room was dominated by the bed, which looked just about large enough to sleep two. An improvement over the couch, she decided, thinking of what she'd slept on for the last nine or so months. There was a small table that folded out from the wall and a chair. A small bunch of flowers in a glass on the table were the only homey tough about the place. A note lay next to them, scrawled in Bill's familiar handwriting.

"Welcome aboard, Laura. Bill."

Those flowers could have only come from Cloud Nine. The fact they were here now meant Bill must have arranged for them well in advance. While no one would deny the Admiral of the fleet something, the cost for the small posy must have been astronomically high. Her eyes misted at the unexpected gesture, and she sat heavily on the bed - clutching the note to her chest - and cried.

-------

By early evening the following day, Laura was ready to climb the walls of her cabin. For nine months, her days had been full from morning until night. She had constantly been meeting people, talking to people, dealing with matters that were vital to the survival of humanity. Now...

She had gone to the galley for breakfast and lunch, feeling completely out of place in her in her suit skirt, blouse and heels. People had nodded respectfully to her, but given her a wide berth: it was obvious she didn't belong there. She had sat by herself at a small table, while crewmembers laughed and joked around her. Every time things looked like getting interesting, one of them would nudge the offender and glance significantly in her direction. She was thinking about skipping dinner altogether.

She'd spent the rest of the day re-reading "Murder on Picon", and wondered what she'd do when she finished it. Reread it again?

When the door chime sounded, she opened the hatch with relief. It was Bill.

"I came by to see how you're doing," he said, stepping through the portal and closing it behind him. His eyes took in her untucked blouse, bare legs and rumpled hair. "Bad day?"

"Ready to climb the walls," she admitted. "I'm just not used to having nothing to do."

He glanced at the book open on the bed. "I could lend you some books to read," he offered.

"You don't lend books," she responded automatically. "And you can't give your library away as gifts."

He didn't disagree with her, but changed the subject.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?"

She surprised both herself and him by throwing her arms around him before she realized what she was doing.

"Oh, thank you. I don't think I could stand another trip to the galley today."

His arms enfolded her, holding her against him. Gods that felt good.

Suddenly self conscious, she released him, and turned to gather her shoes and jacket.

When she turned back, he had a faint frown on his face.

"Laura, if you don't mind me asking something..."

She shook her head.

"Why are you wearing a suit?" he asked cautiously, as if afraid to offend her. "I mean, I would have expected you to be wearing something more comfortable when you were in your quarters."

She concentrated on putting her shoes on, not meeting his gaze.

"It's all I have," she admitted softly. "Three suits and a nightgown." She tried smiling, but didn't think she'd succeeded too well. "I wasn't expecting an extended stay when I came to Galactica." She shrugged off the moment. "I believe you promised me dinner," she said brightly.

"That I did."

-------

Two months passed with glacial slowness for Laura. People were becoming used to her presence on the ship, but she was still an outsider in their minds and hers. She did make an effort to get to know Saul Tigh and Jack Cottle better, as they were the only ones who seemed to be unintimidated by the fact that she was the ex-president of the colonies. Between that and her growing relationship with Bill, it made life almost bearable on the Galactica.

The morning following her first dinner with him, a package had arrived with a note:

"_Laura, hope you'll find use for these. Bill_."

Inside were a couple of Fleet issue exercise suits, running shoes, and two casual outfits - all in her size. She wondered how he'd managed that, but decided not to ask.

With this addition to her wardrobe, she made the effort to go to the gym on a daily basis, and was slowly regaining muscle tone she'd lost during her illness.

She spent some of each day in Bill's quarters, slowly reading her way through his library.

But it wasn't enough. She felt restless; unfulfilled: she needed more in life.

Sitting next to him on the couch after one of their regular dinners, she broached a subject up with Bill that had been on her mind with increasing frequency of late.

"I've been thinking of going down to New Caprica. Settling," she said, playing with her wine glass and looking sideways at him.

"I can't say I'm surprised," he said eventually. "I know you're not happy here."

"Bill…" she laid a reassuring hand on his arm. "It's not Galactica."

"You just need to be doing something," he continued for her, covering her hand with his. "I know. I've been trying to imagine how I'd feel in your place." He smiled, wryly. "I think I would have lost it by now."

"I'm glad you understand," she said softly. "I appreciate the place you've made for me on Galactica, but let's face it: I'm an outsider. I'm not Fleet, have no job, no purpose here. On New Caprica I could feel useful again. I was a teacher, once," she smiled, "and a pretty good one too, I'd like to think. Now I feel I've been given a chance to do it again."

His eyes dropped briefly, then met hers again.

"I'll miss you," he admitted, his eyes shining.

She swallowed a lump in her throat, then reached out and embraced him. She found herself enfolded in a fierce hug.

"And I'll miss you."

Gods it felt good being held. Being held by him. She could feel his breath on the sensitive skin of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Her own breath came faster, and she pulled back enough to see his face. His dark blue eyes were almost black; she could plainly see the desire in their depths. Slowly, deliberately, she closed the distance between them and kissed him.

Lips met softly, then with increasing heat. The attraction that had lain smoldering between them flared. She opened her mouth and let him taste her. He pulled her closer, until she was sitting on his lap, his hands tangling in her hair, roaming over her back and thighs. She moaned; she was being engulfed by heat…

He broke off abruptly, pressing his forehead to hers as they both sat there breathing heavily. One of his hands still on the soft skin of her back under her blouse, the other resting on her thigh under her skirt.

"This is not the time to begin something," he said regretfully, his eyes closed. Her body, still humming from his touch, was screaming that it was the perfect time to begin something. As she fought to get her breathing under control, her mind whispered that he was probably right.

She touched his face gently, her fingers brushing his lips. He kissed the fingers, sending another bolt of desire lancing through her. She was acutely aware of his hands on her body; the fact that she was still sitting on his lap. The temptation to lean forward and kiss him again was almost irresistible. She had no doubt that if she gave in to that temptation, they'd end up in his bed tonight.

With supreme effort, she backed away.

His eyes still radiated desire like a furnace, but he remained where he was, allowing her to put necessary distance between them as she retreated to the other end of the couch.

She might move to New Caprica, but she'd be damned if she was going to lose this man from her life in the process.

"Baltar is planning on holding a ground-breaking ceremony in a month," she ventured. "Perhaps you could..."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he promised.

-------


	6. Blaze

**Blaze**

Extended/Missing scene from 3.09 "Unfinished business"

And this is where things depart from cannon (probably).

There is a companion piece to this chapter: my earlier story "Ground breaking". It intersects with this scene from a different point of view.

-------

The night was cool, then all New Caprican nights tended to the cool side, even in what was officially "summer" in the settlement. The sounds of enthusiastic partying rang out over the settlement, as the Colonists let loose and enjoyed the free alcohol being provided by the generosity of President Baltar.

In the night, lit by torches and the milky light of the nebula, the settlement lost the ramshackle, haphazard look it wore during the hard light of day, and became a charming rustic village.

'Although, that could be something to do with the company I'm keeping,' William Adama thought, looking across at the red-haired woman reclined beside him on the sand bags outside her tent. 'And the weed I smoked earlier.' He almost chuckled to himself - who would have guessed that Laura Roslin would indulge in smoking "mood altering substances"?

"Is this really it, Bill? Is this how we're going to spend the rest of our days?" Laura asked, breaking the silence.

He stared off into space, reflecting on the day, and realizing he hadn't enjoyed himself so much for a long time. The weight of responsibilities on his shoulders had eased since they'd come to the nebula; the threat of the Cylons finding them was retreating in everyone's minds. People were starting to live life again, instead of constantly waiting for the other shoe to fall.

Laura looked better as well, he decided, sneaking another look at his companion. Without illness and the responsibility for the remnants of humanity weighing her down, she looked younger. Happier. He found he liked this carefree side of her personality.

He could easily spend the rest of his days like this.

"Maybe we should just enjoy this," Laura sighed, contemplating the nebula.

He looked across at her, nestled against his side and smiled.

"I am."

She must have caught his look out of the corner of her eye, because she clarified her previous statement.

"No, no. I mean enjoy being here on this planet as long as it lasts. I mean maybe, the Cylons come back maybe they don't. But for now, right now, we've got a break."

Yes, they had a break all right. And people would naturally want to take advantage of it, he thought, remembering his conversation earlier in the day with Chief Tyroll.

"I've got people that want to get off the ship and move down here," he told her.

"Can't say I blame them. I mean what are **you** going to do?"

There was the crux of the matter. The question she was asking wasn't what he was going to do about crewmen wanting to settle on New Caprica. It was more personal. What **was** he going to do? Stay on Galactica? Settle? He looked at Laura curled up against him. Settling looked good right about now. But it was too important a decision to make when he was - he admitted to himself - rather pleasantly buzzed.

Instead of answering he made a non-committal grunt and shrugged, accidentally dislodging Laura's head from his shoulder in the process.

"Sorry." He reached out and touched her cheek in apology. His hand lingered on the smooth skin; his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, then her lips.

Laura's eyes closed as he touched her, turning her face into the caress. He propped himself up on one elbow so he had a better view of the beguiling woman lying beside him. His hand strayed down her neck, and traced the skin around the neckline of her gown. He remembered the feel of her body against his; the taste of her lips, when they said goodbye on Galactica a month ago.

Without further thought, he leaned closer and placed a lingering kiss on her lips.

Her lips parted beneath his and her fingers threaded through his hair. He kiss deepened, becoming more heated. Her leg slid across his, and he reached down, pulling her closer...

Loud sounds of revelry close by interrupted the moment, and they broke off, staring into each others eyes and breathing heavily.

"Maybe…" Laura said huskily, tracing his lips with a finger, "Maybe we should take this elsewhere." Without waiting for an answer, she extricated herself from his embrace and held out her hand to him. An inviting smile graced her lips and eyes, as she waited for his decision. With a matching smile, he allowed her to help him to his feet, and draw him into her tent.

-------

The inside of Laura's tent was dark and she let go of Bill's hand with a "wait here", as she moved further into the gloom. With movements that were gaining the familiarity of practice, she quickly located candles and her lighter. A dozen candles later and the interior of the tent glowed with a warm intimate light.

Bill stood just inside the threshold, staring at her.

"You look amazing in this light," he whispered at last, crossing the distance between them and gently cupping her face.

"You mean in light so dim you can't really see me too well," she said with a self-deprecating smile.

"Laura," he admonished, tangling his fingers in her hair, "you are beautiful in any light."

She felt a warm glow at his words, and with his body pressed closely against hers, she could feel the evidence that he found her attractive. Smiling, she tilted her head slightly and captured his lips with her own.

This kiss was far more... raw... than those they had shared outside. His lips possessed hers, their bodies trying to move even closer to each other. The pleasantly buzzed feeling she'd had from the alcohol and weed intensified into a blaze in the pit of her stomach. His hands caressed as they divested her of clothing, until at last she could feel his hands roaming over her bare skin.

The buttons on his uniform took a bit more effort, but soon that clothing was gone as well and there was no more Admiral; no more President; just a man and a woman joining together in candlelight...

-------

"I'm glad you have a decent-sized bed," Bill murmured into her hair as they lay there wrapped around each other afterward. "I've being having visions of trying to do... that... on a standard-issue camp-bed."

Laura propped herself up on an elbow, so she could see his face.

"William Adama," she reproved with a suppressed smile, "have you been entertaining lascivious thoughts about me?"

"Since you told me we had to start having babies," he deadpanned.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow and slapped his arm. The grin that had been hidden bloomed into a radiant smile.

"Liar," she accused playfully. "You could barely stand me back then."

He shrugged slightly, acknowledging a certain truth in her words: they hadn't gotten off to the best start, after all, but he liked to think they'd made up for it since.

"It sort of crept up on me slowly," he admitted. "And then one day we were having a meeting and I realized I'd spent the entire time admiring your legs and couldn't remember what we'd been discussing." He chuckled. "Thankfully someone had taken notes, otherwise I would have had to embarrass myself and ask you to recap the meeting for me."

Laura laughed out loud at this, and Bill watched her, transfixed. He could count the number of times he'd seen her laugh on one hand.

"You know," she confessed after she finished laughing, "for me it would have to be the first time I came aboard after we decided to run for it. You had all this military protocol thing going - dress uniforms, escorts, bells and whistles. I thought you must be enjoying the whole process, until Lee told me that you were making a gesture to make me feel more Presidential." She shrugged. "I guess that's the first time I looked past the uniform and saw the man."

Her gaze turned serious, and her eyes locked with his.

"A man who didn't answer my earlier question, by the way. Do you think you'll stay on Galactica?"

"I don't know," he said slowly, drawing her close into his arms again. "I really don't know."

-------


	7. Banked

**Banked**

Missing scene from episode 3.05 "Collaborators"

----------

Laura stood alone in the middle of the cabin, letting the smell of leather and books wrap itself around her like a warm blanket. It had been a year since she'd been here: strangely, it seemed like both a lifetime and a moment ago.

Bill's cabin was unchanged and she let that fact calm the butterflies in her stomach. In a few minutes he would walk through that door, and she would lay eyes on him for the first time in far too long.

President Baltar's edict - that the Admiral should remain confined to space overseeing the defense of the colony - had kept them apart since the night of the ground breaking ceremony. Prior to the Cylon occupation they had managed to exchange brief calls on the wireless and infrequent letters, but the lack of direct contact had caused an ache deep inside her. Another reason to dislike Baltar, not that she really needed any more.

That one night, full of alcohol and weed; laughter and promise. Laura smiled to herself, the expression bittersweet. Memories of that one magical interlude had kept her warm on many a cold New Caprican night. But time and the effort to survive under five months of Cylon occupation had dimmed the memory of those blazing feelings to an ember. No matter how much she had wished for Bill to be with her on the planet, helping her plan the construction of their cabin, everyone would all still be stuck down there if that had been the case. Maybe it had worked out for the best.

She sighed, and ran her hands over the skirt of her suit, which had been retrieved from storage. Once it had been a second skin to her, now... Well, she was having problems adjusting to wearing her armor again, she admitted candidly to herself. For the last year she had been someone else: 'Miz Laura' to her students; 'Ms Roslin' to casual acquaintances; but just 'Laura' in her heart.

Now, she was going to be forced to become someone else. A someone she wasn't sure she wanted to be again.

Tom Zarek was currently standing before the newly reformed Quorum of Twelve, moving a "no confidence" motion in the missing (and hopefully dead) President Baltar. Her name would be proposed as Vice President, then in a few days Zarek would resign. Once again she would be the President, and no longer just Laura.

The hatch swung open - startling her, so deeply was she lost in her thoughts - and in stepped Admiral William Adama.

'He looks tired,' was her first thought, followed closely by 'he looks wonderful.' She had to make an effort to blink back the tears at the sight of him.

'Of course he looks tired', she admonished herself. He hadn't exactly been sitting around on his butt up here having a picnic. The rescue of the Colonists from New Caprica had been a precision operation, with a great deal of planning behind it.

Saul had not been overly forthcoming as to the specific details of the rescue, so she had watched open-mouthed as Galactica had jumped into the upper atmosphere and plummeted toward the settlement. For as long as she lived, she knew she would never forget that heart-stopping moment of the immense warship dropping from the sky like a rock, spewing all of its Vipers through a cloud of fire, before jumping away at the last second. It had been awe-inspiring; completely insane, but magnificent beyond belief.

He paused on the threshold as he caught sight of her, and then smoothly entered; closing the distance between them with an outstretched hand, which she automatically took.

"Congratulations, Madam Vice President," he offered. "The Quorum has just ratified Zarek's proposal."

Laura felt a sense of dislocation, as if his voice was coming to her from a great distance.

'This isn't how our reunion is supposed to go,' she railed against fate. 'He's supposed to throw his arms around me, kiss me senseless, and then make love to me.' Her dreams over the last few months had contained many variations on their reunion scene. Sometimes they made it to his rack, but often they would make love up against a wall, or on top of his desk. Never in her imaginings had their reunion been marked by such distance and formality.

"Thank you, Admiral," she said serenely, no hint of her inner turmoil leaking through into her politician's voice. She didn't realize that her thumb was moving across the back of his hand in what could only be described as a caress, until a light flared in his eyes.

'So the fire isn't dead, only banked,' she thought. Maybe it was only natural. After all, she wasn't the same person she'd been a year ago; neither was he. They just needed time to get used to each other again.

His expression softened, and she saw the man behind the Admiral's mask once more.

"Welcome home, Laura," he said softly.

"Thank you, Bill."

----------


	8. Smoke

**Smoke**

Extended scene/Missing scenes from 3.10 "Eye of Jupiter" and 3.11 "Rapture"

----------

Laura was flipping through Elosha's copy of the Book of Pythia as Bill entered the room.

"There's not really much more on the Eye in these scriptures," she said, without looking up. Flip; flip. "But there's several interesting stories about the Temple. Listen to this: 'Five pillars of the Temple were fashioned after the five priests devoted to the one whose name...'"

"Laura," Bill interrupted her, standing by the desk.

"What?" she asked, looking up and registering his expressing for the first time: serious; forbidding. Had something else happened?

"The Cylon we know as 'Boomer' arrived with the others," he said levelly, his eyes on her. "She told our Sharon that her child was alive, and that she was on board on of the Cylon baseships." Pause. "And that she had been seen on New Caprica in your school."

Laura felt a sense of both relief and dread at his words.

Relief, because in spite of herself, she'd actually become fond of little Isis down on New Caprica. She hadn't expected to, knowing the child's heritage; but a baby was a baby, it seemed, whether half or fully human

Dread, because the Cylons had the baby. The one thing above all she'd been trying to avoid.

"The child is alive," she said softly, half to herself. There was no point hiding the deception any longer, or her part in it.

"Yes. Yes, the child was at the school. Yes, I kept her there."

Bill sat heavily.

"And we suspected that the Cylons captured her during the exodus from New Caprica. Yes, it's true."

She leaned forward; his expression was closed to her.

"Listen, the thing you might want to know is that when sh..."

Bill stood abruptly and stalked out of the room.

She stared at his retreating back and let him go without a word.

----------

**Later**

As Laura approached the hatch to Bill's cabin, the marine sentry moved to block her way.

"Ma'am, the Admiral's asked not to be disturbed, except in case of an emergency."

Not surprising, Laura thought.

"Please buzz him and tell him the President is here and has a matter she needs to discuss with him." Her face was set.

The young man looked at her a moment, as if weighing up whether to risk the Admiral's ire of the President's wrath. Under her steely gaze, he buzzed the intercom and announced her presence, then quickly opened the hatch for her.

Bill had been sitting on the couch, and was still climbing to his feet as she entered. He was out of uniform, wearing well-worn sweats and t-shirt.

"Madam President," he said stiffly, only barely looking in her general direction. "It's been a long day..."

"Let's cut right to it," she interrupted him coolly. "You're angry at me about my decision regarding Hera."

"Madam President…"

"Well too fraking bad," she spoke over the top of him." Good or bad, given the information to hand at the time, I'd make exactly the same decision again." She glared at him, arms folded across her chest. "Since this whole mess began I've had to make lots of decisions - horrible ones - I wouldn't have considered myself capable of making in my previous life. But what we're trying to do here is save the last remnants of humanity; which overrides any squeamishness I might feel regarding such decisions.

"I believed it was imperative for the Fleet's survival for the Cylons to believe the child had died. That meant deceiving the Agathons…"

They were now standing almost toe-to-toe.

"The Agathons are my officers," Bill ground out, his eyes flashing. "You neglecting to tell me what you'd done to their child - lying by omission - meant that I've also been lying to them for the last eighteen months about something no parent should ever have to go through. And, incidentally, breaking the bond of trust between an officer and his subordinates."

"Get off your frakking high-horse, Bill," she snapped, "and while you're at is, cut the sanctimonious crap." Her temper was rising now.

His jaw clenched and nostrils flared as he took a deep breath.

"You've been quite comfortable lying to your subordinates when it suited you: 'There is an Earth, and I know how to find it'," she parroted his words spoken in the first days after fleeing the Colonies.

"And you've demonstrated you have no problem lying to me. Only a few weeks ago, you and Lieutenant Novacek sat in those chairs and spun quite a colorful tale of how he'd been lost on a mission."

Bill looked like he wanted to pick something up and hurl it across the room. If her own temper hadn't been at boiling point, she might have been frightened by the raw emotion in his eyes.

The two of them stood there in silence for a minute; eyes locked, breathing hard. In an inconvenient moment of honesty, Laura realized that not only was she angry, she was also incredibly turned on. Part of her wanted him to grab her, slam her up against the wall and… Her gaze dropped fractionally to his lips, before self-control reasserted itself. Frakking hell. Angry sex might temporarily relieve a few frustrations, but wouldn't resolve their problems in the long run. Hoping Bill hadn't noticed her momentary lapse, she spun on her heel and exited the cabin, leaving him staring after her.

----------

**Later still**

It was well into the night cycle of the Fleet, but Laura tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Too many things had happened that day, and it was all still whirling around in her mind.

Sharon Agathon downloading to the Cylon ship, then returning with her daughter and another Cylon; the escape of the landing party and Galactica's desperate jump just ahead of the supernova shockwave; the return of Baltar. And her argument with Bill. While all the other things could be filed in "President Roslin's inbox"; that last one seemed to be squarely in Laura's lap.

She sighed and turned over, trying to find that magical comfortable position that would induce her body to sleep despite the objections her mind had. This new bed that Baltar had commissioned when he held office was more comfortable than anything she'd slept on for several years now, but at the moment the comfort seemed more of a deterrent to sleep than an aid.

A soft tentative knock came from beyond the curtain screening her personal quarters from her office.

"Yes?"

She sat up, surprised, holding the covers to her chest.

"Ma'am, Admiral Adama is here, wondering if he might have a word," the voice of her on-duty guard filtered through the curtain.

"Give me a moment, then send him in," she requested, throwing back the covers and climbing out of bed. She was just tying the sash of her robe when Bill entered.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concerned. She didn't think she was up to dealing with any more problems or shocks today. Or a renewal of their earlier argument. Then her eyes dropped to the familiar bottle of alcohol and glasses he carried. He must have swiped them from her office on the way through.

He looked... uncomfortable. She drew her robe closer about her.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his eyes flicking briefly over her attire. "I didn't realize how late it was till I actually got here. And it would have looked strange for me to turn around and head straight back."

She gestured to the couch under the porthole and both sat, while he sloshed a generous amount of amber colored liquid in each glass before handing her one.

They sipped in silence.

"Nice bed," he commented, as if he were looking for a way to somehow break the ice and start the conversation.

Despite the lingering friction from their earlier argument, Laura felt her mouth try to curve into a smile at the choice of opening line. Neutral topic, it was not.

Bill realized it at the same time and cleared his throat, looking down at the glass in his hand.

"Something former President Baltar left behind," she said with an almost straight face. "But you haven't come here to talk about me bed..." She paused, then added: "Unless you have..."

Bill had been in mid-sip and the look on his face was priceless. He made a Herculean effort not to choke on the drink and she laughed, her eyes sparkling.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, laying a hand on his arm. "You're right: it's late. My sense of humor always seems to get away from me when I'm tired."

Pulling away, she took a sip of her own drink, to allow him a moment to recover his composure.

"I must admit I'm surprised to see you," she said candidly, her gaze holding his. "After our last conversation…"

"That's what I wanted to talk about," he replied. He sipped his drink again, then deliberately placed it on the coffee table in front of them. "I didn't want to leave things as they were."

Laura was silent, letting him work through what he'd come to say.

"Yes, I was angry earlier; angry at you. I'm still not happy with the situation, but you did have some valid points. We've both had to make some hard decisions; decisions no person should reasonably be asked to make. And you're right - neither of us have been completely open and honest with the other." He paused a moment. "Given our positions, there's bound to be secrets. I keep things from you, to give you deniability; you keep things from me, because you're the President, and I don't always 'need to know'.

He looked at her through his glasses.

"But I don't want to jeopardize what we have."

"A good working relationship between the President and Admiral?" Laura asked.

"Or the friendship between Laura and Bill," he added quietly.

They looked at each other.

"I still don't agree with your decision," he said. "It's something a parent should never have to go through." His face displayed his own pain at losing a child.

"No it's not," she agreed softly. "And I'm sorry Bill, but I still would do it again if I had to."

The drinks were finished in silence.

Laura knew there could be no guarantees they wouldn't have professional disagreements; it was almost inevitable, given their jobs. They just needed to keep their eyes fixed on what they were working towards and not let the problems tear apart the alliance they'd forged.

Bill placed his empty glass on the table and stood, offering a hand to help her up.

While they had been seated at a socially acceptable distance, standing put them into much closer proximity.

"I... I should let you get back to bed," he said.

Her eyes twinkled as several innuendo-laced comments sprang to mind, but she restrained herself from actually saying any of them out loud.

"Good night Bill," she said, placing her hand on his arm.

"Good night, Laura." His hand covered hers.

----------


	9. Flames

**Flames**

Missing/Extended scene from 3.12 "Taking a break from all your worries"

----------

Laura slept.

Laura slept, and Bill watched her.

He hadn't intended to sit there watching her sleep, but somehow he'd gravitated away from his desk and the reports he should have been reading to the side of his rack. Watching her face - luminous in the lamplight and relaxed from all her waking pressures. Watching the rise and fall of her chest as she softly inhaled and exhaled. Watching her hair spread out over his pillow in a shining red wave; the tantalizing glimpse of bare skin at her midriff where her blouse was untucked. No wonder the reports had been left by the wayside.

Oh, he had tried to read the reports for several unproductive hours, but his eyes and mind kept straying to the figure lying on his rack. Finally, he had given up on the paperwork completely and allowed himself to simply sit and contemplate the woman on the bed. He knew he shouldn't be sitting here watching her; it was violating her privacy, but he couldn't look away.

Some primal part of him was rejoicing with possessive glee: 'Laura Roslin is asleep in my bed'. But the rational part of his consciousness kept reminding him she was there only because she had a severe headache and had lain down to rest.

----------

**Earlier **

_"I'm not used to that level of emotional histrionics," she apologized, referring to her scene with Baltar earlier in the day. _

_It had been chilling to watch the normally calm and self-possessed President Roslin appear to completely lose it, even when he knew it was just an act. He'd fully expected Baltar to piss his pants and make a full confession on the spot, but the little weasel had shown a surprising amount of backbone. Not surprising, though, given the man's prodigious intellect and extraordinary sense of self-preservation. No matter how scared the little frakker was of Roslin, there was always the off-chance she was bluffing, and a confession would certainly book him a one-way trip to the airlock._

_The screaming and ranting had had an unexpected effect though: it had given Laura a grade A mother-frakker of a headache._

_Without a thought, he offered her the use of his quarters as he had many times in the past when she'd needed to do work or conduct meetings on Galactica._

_"I can't throw you out," she protested weakly, even as he guided her across the cabin in the direction of his rack._

_"If it makes you feel better, I can read reports in the main cabin," he replied, trying to ease her conscience. "My boss is something of a slave driver and gets a little upset when I don't keep on top of my paperwork."_

_That earned him a warm smile, and she divested herself of jacket and shoes, lying on the bed with a heart-felt sigh of relief._

----------

Now, hours later, he sat on the edge of the bed debating whether or not to awaken her. It was getting late and she might not appreciate waking in the morning and discovering she'd unintentionally spent the night in his cabin.

'Then again, she might,' a voice in his mind suggested.

He ignored the voice: he would wake her. He glanced at her face again. Her lips - soft, red and inviting - beckoned to him. Begging him to kiss her awake. For a moment, a long moment he was tempted. Instead, he reached out a hand and gently grasped her shoulder.

She stirred, her hair falling softly across his hand, but didn't wake. On the second try, she opened her eyes and smiled up at him.

"Morning, Bill." Her voice was throaty, sleepy, and - beyond a shadow of a doubt - damn sexy. She looked up at him with that gorgeous smile, blue eyes full of affection, her hair disheveled. He couldn't help but return the smile, thinking that this was a sight he wouldn't mind waking up to each morning.

"Actually, it's evening," he replied clearing his throat and trying not to look like an idiot by grinning. "Late evening."

She sighed, closing her eyes and unselfconsciously stretched, the hem of her skirt and blouse both riding up to expose a great deal more skin than normal. He could feel his temperature rise as his gaze slid down her body. His body was begging him to reach out with his hands and follow the path his eyes had taken, removing her clothes as he went. By the time his eyes had finished their journey back to her face, her eyes were open again, and he knew he'd been caught ogling.

Damn. Well, he couldn't pretend he hadn't been looking. Best to ignore it?

Laura smiled slightly; amusement and... something else shone in her eyes.

But she seemed willing to give him a reprieve for his indiscretion, and started talking about Baltar. It took his mind a few seconds to catch up with the sudden shift into business, and he completely missed her opening sentences.

"...I told him I didn't take any satisfaction in seeing his pain," she was saying, "But the truth is, I was willing to see him endure a great deal of suffering, in order to get what I wanted. It wasn't some intelligence or some truth. I wanted a genuine admission of guilt."

"That's something that you're not gonna get from someone like Baltar," he replied, trying to ease her conscience. "He doesn't see himself that way. It's not who he is. In his eyes he's the victim, not the criminal."

She stared at the ceiling, as if trying to see her way through the mess that the ex-President's reappearance was going to cause.

"It's not too late for him to just disappear," he offered quietly. While she had advocated ruthless courses of action in the past, he was desperately hoping she didn't take him up on this offer.

Laura smiled sadly and placed her hand gently on his arm.

"We can't do that," she whispered. "For all his crimes, he's one of us."

There was silence as each contemplated the situation.

"So what happens next?" he asked finally.

"We give him his trial."

----------


	10. Scorch

**Scorch**

Missing scene from 3.14 "A Day in the Life"

----------

"Bill? The answer's yes. I absolutely would've built the cabin."

As Laura walked out through the hatch of the wardroom, he exhaled sharply, unaware until that moment that he'd been holding his breath. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and glanced around the room, surprised there weren't any scorch marks considering the heat that had been generated by that conversation.

It was out in the open now; this… thing that lay between them. This thing that they'd danced around or flat-out tried to ignore since Laura's return from New Caprica.

"You know what this 'thing' is, Bill," the voice in his head that sounded like Carolanne chided. "You two were putting out enough heat to put a sun to shame. I mean, you saw her look: if you'd kissed her just now she would have let you take her right there and then. Perhaps against the bulkhead. Or on the table."

He growled at the voice to shut up, trying to block out the mental images.

"Or perhaps you'd prefer for her to take you," the voice drawled. "Maybe at your desk, on your chair…" He bashed his fist onto a table, feeling the pain radiate up his arm. Enough.

"You brought up the subject," the voice persisted. " 'Do you think about New Caprica' and 'I remember a bright red dress' but then you backed away. Why? She's the 'President of the Colonies' and she obviously doesn't have a problem with a relationship between the two of you. Why should you? Why deny yourself this chance at happiness?"

He exited the ward room heading for his quarters, resolutely ignoring the voice in his head.

A cold shower sounded good right about now.


	11. Bonfire

**Bonfire**

Missing scene between 3.16 "Maelstrom" and 3.17 "The Son Also Rises"

----------

The funeral service for Kara Thrace was subdued. Laura glanced around the hangar deck - most of the faces still looked shell-shocked; it seemed that no one had been able to come to terms with the brash young pilot's death yet. There had been too many funerals for too many good people over the last three and a half years. But a senseless death like Kara's seemed to hit people harder. She had been special: one of those larger-then-life personalities who seemed to grasp life with both hands and dare the Gods to shoot her down. People like that seemed destined to go out in a blaze of glory, not lost on a routine patrol.

Samuel Anders, with tears streaming down his face, spoke of his wife's determination and the sheer stubbornness that had see himself and many others rescued from the post-apocalyptic hell of old Caprica.

"She was an insubordinate wretch; couldn't follow orders worth a damn, but the best frakking pilot I ever saw," Saul Tigh rasped, his good eye shining.

Laura stole yet another sideways glance at the man standing beside her. Bill. He stood ramrod straight in his dress uniform, his face impassive as if carved from granite. The model of a Colonial Fleet Admiral. However Laura could see the clenched jaw and tense muscles, and knew the effort that was going in to maintaining that facade. She longed to reach out; take his hand in hers; offer comfort in some way, yet she dared do nothing that would distract him from maintaining his outward appearance of military perfection.

His speech to the assembled crowd was simple, yet moving. He didn't extol the virtues of a woman who'd been a surrogate daughter to him; neither did he try to make the circumstances of her death into a meaningful event.

The message was simple: "She was our friend; wife; lover; daughter; our pain-in-the-butt, brash and fragile Starbuck. And she will be missed."

That was all; but delivered with such quiet dignity and sorrow, that Laura's eyes brimmed with unshed tears for his pain, and all around the hangar deck fresh sobs broke out.

The gathering broke up in a haphazard manner. There was no coffin to send to the deep; no absolute closure in that sense; and people milled around, as if unsure of what to do. Laura mingled for a few minutes, offering her condolences to Anders and those of Galactica's pilots she recognized. She was certain they'd be seeking liquid oblivion after leaving the hangar deck. Saul Tigh had already started, she noted as she saw him sipping from a hip flask.

When she looked for Bill she wasn't surprised to discover he'd disappeared. She debated with herself for a long moment, and then discretely slipped away from the gathering.

----------

"Is he in there?" she asked the marine who was on sentry duty outside Bill's quarters.

"Yes Ma'am," was the crisp acknowledgement, as the young man drew himself up to attention. "Do you want me to announce you?"

"Not this time," she replied, and gestured for him to open the hatch.

The cabin was dim, illuminated only by a single lamp beside the couch. Bill sat at his desk in the shadows, head in his hands, with a bottle of alcohol and half-filled glass before him. His dress tunic had been discarded and lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. It was as if by removing the jacket - his armor - he had given himself permission to grieve, and his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Laura slowly crossed the room toward him, tears welling up in her own eyes at his pain. Something crunched underfoot. She stopped, retrieving the offending item. She turned it over in her hands, puzzled. It looked like a… sail? She glanced over to the place his model ship was usually on display. It was gone, but in the shadowy recesses of the cabin she spotted a tangled wreckage of wood, string and cloth.

"Oh Bill," she breathed, tentatively reaching over the back of his chair, and placing her hands on his shoulders. She stood like that a long moment, before he swiveled the chair and she suddenly found herself sitting in his lap with his arms wrapped firmly around her and his head buried in the crook of her neck. The power of his sobs shook her body, and her tears joined his, falling freely into his hair.

Eventually his sobs tapered to an occasional shuddering indrawn breath.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her neck.

"Shh," she soothed, her hands still threaded through his hair, holding him against her. She pressed a tender kiss against his forehead. "Shh. It's all right." Another soft kiss, this one on his temple.

At first she wasn't entirely sure the delicate touch on her neck was a kiss. Then it was repeated; then again. She arched her neck with a slight gasp as the soft caresses sent shivers down her spine. A moment later his lips met hers in a kiss of searing need. She moaned as his mouth devoured hers; his hands roaming with abandon over her body.

The buttons of her blouse were undone with startling rapidness and his hands caressed the skin bared to him. His mouth left hers, kissing its way down to her breasts.

With head thrown back and breathing hard, she reveled in the sensations his mouth and hands were producing in her body. It felt so good… and it was so wrong.

With great effort, she put her hands on his shoulders, applying an insistent pressure.

"Bill. Bill, stop. We can't"

After a moment, he heeded the signal and his hands stopped caressing and he rested his head against her.

"I want this… Gods, I want this," she admitted hoarsely, "but we can't. Not now. If we do, you'll hate yourself in the morning."

Time passed, then his head pulled away from her chest, and he looked her in the face for the first time she'd entered the room. His eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks tear-stained. She tenderly brushed her fingertips across his lips, and her breath caught as he kissed them. Looking into his cobalt eyes, feeling the heat from his body, it would be so easy to give in to the moment…

"Bill…"

"I know," he exhaled heavily. "I know. You're right."

With his eyes locked on hers, his hands moved slowly up her chest and rebuttoned her blouse. For some reason the act almost felt more intimate than the kisses and caresses they'd been sharing moments before. She carefully extricated herself from his lap and stood, rubbing her hands over her skirt; her body still thrummed with desire. Bill rose from the chair, not bothering to hide the evidence of his physical reaction to her. The look that passed between them was honest; raw. There was no hiding or pretence. This was something both of them wanted; something that was **going** to happen; it was just the wrong time.

"I should go," she whispered, laying a hand on his chest in farewell. He nodded, and she could feel his eyes burning into her back until the hatch shut behind her.

----------


	12. Inferno

**Inferno**

_Missing scene between Season 3 episodes: "The Son Also Rises" and "Crossroads part 1"_

_Sorry for the delay between this chapter and the previous. It was written and rewritten as I tried to decide how much within canon I wanted to stay._

_Like Chapter 6 ("Blaze") this is an abridged version. Full version can be found on Survival Instinct. _

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Laura stood before the plain gray hatch, waiting for admittance. Except for the sentry standing on duty, it could have been any of a hundred hatches on Galactica. The difference was, this was the entrance to William Adama's quarters.

----------

**Earlier**

She sat on the examination bed as Jack Cottle delivered the bad news.

"I'm sorry, Madam President, but the blood work confirms it: the cancer is back."

Funny, it wasn't nearly as terrifying the second time as the first time she'd heard the diagnosis of cancer. There was more a feeling of: regret... sadness... and "why did he have to tell my when my ass is hanging out the back of this ridiculous gown?"

Today was just supposed to be a regular checkup, just like all the other ones she'd been having monthly since their rescue from New Caprica. Cottle was supposed to say "everything looks fine, but you need more rest." Or that she needed to eat better. Or to get more exercise. Something like that, anyway.

She'd been feeling good for so long - almost two years, now - that she'd pushed the knowledge that her 'miracle cure' might not be permanent to the back of her mind. Until Cottle dragged it out and used it to club her over the head when he uttered four small words: the cancer is back.

"We've probably caught it early enough that the standard treatment protocol should be effective this time," Cottle was saying, scribbling notes in her file.

She made a face - the side effects from diloxin could be nasty: she'd seen that up close and personal with her mother. Cottle caught the look and nodded.

"I know: it'll be a bitch. There'll be days you'll hate me; days you'll beg me to stop torturing you. But if it works…" He shrugged, making another note. "I'm also prescribing chamalla for you again."

"I thought you didn't believe in that alternative medicine mumbo-jumbo." She managed a smile.

"I don't," Cottle said around the cigarette dangling from his lips. "But chamalla - despite its drawbacks - is a reasonable painkiller. And you **do** believe in that mumbo-jumbo, so I want to give you every advantage I can."

The smile came more naturally this time. "Thank you."

He grunted, dismissing the sentimentality with characteristic gruffness. "Who else is going to lead this rabble we call our civilization? Better you than that moron Baltar, or that frakking terrorist you call a vice-president.

"Now, I'd like to keep you overnight; monitor your body's reintroduction to chamalla, then run some more tests in the morning. So toddle along and call your aide so she can run interference with the press, or whatever it is she does in situations like this."

She was shell-shocked enough that she didn't think to argue, and contacted Colonial One as instructed, telling Tori she'd be spending the night in Galactica's Life Station and asking her aide to reschedule all her morning meetings.

"Here you go." Cottle handed her a cup of tea after she got off the phone. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the bitter drug rising in the steam.

"Ugh," she shuddered as she sipped: it truly tasted vile.

"Lucky you're not an oracle," Cottle noted.

-----

The beds were just as uncomfortable as she remembered. More so, maybe, because this time she wasn't in excruciating pain or strung-out on morpha. She tossed and turned for a while, then gave up trying to sleep: she wasn't used to going to bed this early, anyway.

"Where do you think you're going," Cottle rasped as she walked past his office a short time later, fully clothed.

"It's too early to sleep," she stared him down. "And I... I just need to get out of here for a while. Go for a walk. Clear my head."

"Talk to a friend?" Cottle suggested.

She looked at him and he shrugged.

"I listened in on your phone conversation with your aide: you didn't tell her."

"Not yet," Laura said, defensively, folding her arms across her chest.

"You need to talk about this with someone. A friend. And from what I've seen, you don't have too many people you'd actually call 'friends'." He flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette. "You tend to push people away, young lady; not letting them become close enough to be your friend."

She opened her mouth to object, but he waved a hand at her, and continued: "Yes, yes, I know: the President has to hold herself apart and all that crap. But there is one person on this ship I believe you do call a friend - call a lot more than a friend, if the rumors are to be believed." Somehow he managed to say that without it feeling tawdry. "Go talk to him. I'll still be here in the morning to run those tests."

Halfway between anger and embarrassment, a blush heated her cheeks, and she glared at him. He held that gaze, cigarette dangling from his lips, completely unrepentant.

Suddenly she laughed, and bent over and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, Jack."

The cigarette nearly dropped: she'd surprised him.

"I'll be back later," she said with a wave of her hand, as she left his office.

"They'll be rumors about us, next," he grumbled to himself, then called after her retreating back: "And don't call me Jack!"

--------------------

And so here she was, outside the hatch of the man she called a friend, and the one place left in the universe she felt safe.

--------------------

Bill paused as he was about to pull the t-shirt over his head. Had that been a knock? A quick glance at the clock on the wall showed it was late and therefore unlikely, but he crossed to the hatch, dragging the t-shirt on as he went.

It had been a knock. In the corridor stood Laura Roslin with an... odd... expression on her face.

"Laura?"

She looked him up and down, apparently noting his distinct lack of uniform.

"Bill... I'm sorry... I hadn't realized it was so late," she apologized. "I'll let you get to bed."

As she turned to leave, he reached out and snagged her arm, urging her into the cabin instead. He locked the hatch and led her, unresisting, to the couch.

"Now, what's wrong?" he asked, sitting beside her.

"What makes you think something's wrong," she countered weakly, folding her arms across her chest in a protective gesture.

"Your face, for starters. And the fact you're here at this time of night." He didn't mention the fact that her body language was screaming "vulnerability."

She smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes. He sat patiently, waiting for her to be ready to tell him whatever was bothering her.

"I..." she took a deep breath. "There's no easy way to say this. I had a checkup with Cottle this afternoon: the cancer's back."

Time stopped. Then resumed with what felt like a punch to his chest. He closed his eyes a moment, wanting with all his heart for her to take back those words, then he reached out and pulled her into a hug. She was stiff at first, then abruptly relaxed into the embrace, wrapping her arms about him and allowing him to offer comfort.

His tears fell silently into her hair. He wanted to rail at those non-existent gods: why? Why her?

"I'm going to fight this, Bill," she said with quiet determination, her head leaning against his chest. "Cottle hopes he's caught it early enough this time that treatment will be effective this time."

They sat like that for a long time in silence, drawing strength and solace from the physical contact.

Finally, Laura pulled away from the embrace and climbed to her feet. He followed suit, standing close.

"I should go," she sighed, smoothing her skirt down. "Let you get some sleep."

He put his hand to her cheek, turning her head to face him. The words were out of his mouth before he realized he'd spoken:

"Don't go."

----------

"Don't go," Bill whispered, his hand warm against her cheek. She covered his hand with her own, planning to insist she had to. But the words she'd been intending to utter died on her lips as she looked deeply into his eyes.

Gone was the reserved commander; the stoic leader; the man haunted by the failures of his personal life. He wasn't holding back anymore: everything he felt for her was in that gaze, there for her to see.

She never knew who moved first, only that she was in his arms as their lips met in a passionate kiss.

Her shoes had already been discarded earlier and the rest of her clothes quickly followed suit as he backed her towards his rack, barely breaking their kisses to rid her of the unwanted garments.

She reached for the drawstring of his pants, intending to return the favor, but he deftly caught her hands and shook his head.

"Not this time. Let me do this tonight, Laura..."

She nodded acquiescence and he gently pushed her down onto the bed, pausing to strip off his own clothes before stretching out beside her.

Bare skin against bare skin. It had been so long that she almost purred with pleasure at feeling his skin against hers.

For a moment he did nothing but look into her eyes. Then he kissed her again, his mouth leisurely exploring hers, tasting, nibbling, caressing.

She had never been one to be passive during love-making, but she allowed Bill to do what he would, letting the heat build up inside her.

With lips and hands he worshipped her her body. The fire grew exponentially, until it consumed her being in a blazing inferno.

When she floated back to reality, she discovered he was just sitting there, watching her face.

"That was so beautiful," he whispered hoarsely.

She felt no embarrassment, no inhibitions; she wanted him to see all of her. Her hand cupped his cheek, feeling the roughness of stubble beneath her fingertips.

"Come here."

He lay there a moment, looking into her eyes.

"I love you," he said quietly.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and he kissed them away as they joined together.

"I love you, too."


	13. Glow

**Glow**

----------

A banging on the hatch woke Adama from a sound sleep. The military reflex that usually brought him instantly awake seemed to be absent, but the unaccustomed feel of a naked body against his filled that missing void nicely and brought him fully awake. Laura stirred.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered, kissing her bare shoulder and drawing the covers back over her body.

"Mmmm." She turned over, burrowing into the bedclothes.

He smiled tenderly: apparently Laura was not a morning person. The banging on the hatch was repeated.

With a muttered curse he launched himself off the rack and quickly donned his sweatpants, struggling into the t-shirt as he made his way to the hatch.

"Yes?"

Saul Tigh barged into the cabin past him, looking less than pleased. The XO was not a morning person on the best of days and today was obviously not a good day for him. Bill knew how he felt: he could do with several more hours sleep himself.

"Morning, Bill," Tigh said, handing over the folder that contained the morning briefing reports. "Mind telling me why I got a wake up call from Cottle this morning, telling me to haul my ass out of bed at this gods-forsaken hour and deliver your morning report or he'd make my next physical very long and painful?"

Bill shrugged, flipping quickly through the report. And kept his eyes resolutely away from his rack.

"Doc is usually hard as nails," Tigh continued, "but the language he used could've made a marine sergeant blush. Told me that…" Saul broke off, his good eye widening.

Bill followed the gaze and swallowed a curse as his eyes landed on an article of feminine apparel on the floor. They hadn't tidied up before falling asleep last night, and the clothes were in a distinct line from the couch to the bed. He watched his XO's eye track from item to item and finally to the rack.

Even though that corner of his cabin was still dark, you could make out an occupant in the bed; one bare leg poking out from beneath the blankets; a mass of long hair drifting across the pillows.

"Well I'll be…" Saul breathed.

Bill shot him a warning glare, and his friend pulled himself to attention, although the formal pose was marred by the grin on his face.

"If there's nothing else, sir, I'll be about my duties."

Bill nodded permission, and Tigh saluted, about-faced and strode toward the hatch with a muttered: "about frakking time." Just before he opened it, he paused.

"You know, you look exhausted, Bill. Seems like you could do with a few more hours of rack-time. I'll alert CIC and your sentry to send everything to me."

Bill looked at his friend with gratitude.

"Thank you, Saul. I appreciate it."

Tigh nodded and exited the cabin.

Bill tossed the report on his desk, shucked his clothes and slid back into bed beside Laura. She snuggled back against him, making a contented sound.

"Was that the dulcet tones of Colonel Tigh I just heard?" she asked sleepily.

"Uh-huh," he replied, running his hand possessively over the curve of her hip, then the flat plane of her stomach. He drew back her hair and kissed the side of her neck, just where it met her shoulder, relishing the sound of her sigh.

"Apparently Cottle rousted him out of bed to help protect your reputation." He snorted. "I think Gaeta would have fainted if he'd been confronted by the sight of women's clothes strewn across my cabin."

There was a noise that sounded like a chuckle, and Laura turned towards him, propping her head up on one arm and sliding a leg between his. Her hair was tousled from sleep and there was something deliciously wicked about her look.

She traced a finger down his chest from the hollow of his throat, across his pectorals, to the sensitive skin over his hip.

"Hate to tell you this, Bill, but according to some of the rumors, we've been frakking ever since the fleet jumped beyond the red line."

He rolled her beneath him.

"That long? I guess we should start making up for lost time, then."

END Conflagration


End file.
